


Controlled Circumstances

by isabeau, Miriam (isabeau)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Episode Remix, Episode: s03e14 Bad Girls, Gen, Kinda old fic (pre-2005)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-01
Updated: 2005-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabeau/pseuds/isabeau, https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabeau/pseuds/Miriam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bad Girls, from Wesley's point of view; or, how life with a Slayer is not quite like training.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Controlled Circumstances

It was my first proper assignment, and I knew it was going to be perfect. It was a simple job, really: put the Slayer back on track. She was a good Slayer, all things considered. A little willful, and hampered by having an ineffective Watcher, but talented enough to have lived this long.

"We have faith in you not to fail," the Watcher's Council told me. I had faith also. What could possibly go wrong?

I felt slightly out of place at the school, surrounded by noisy, chattering, American, almost alien teens. It would have bothered me more if they were the reason I was here. The library, where I was told Mr. Giles worked, was blessedly quiet after the ruckus in the hall.

"May I help you?" he asked, smiling politely if distantly. There was no recognition in his eyes. To him I was simply another visitor. Well, that was easy enough to set straight.

"Wesley Wyndam-Pryce," I said, offering my hand for him to shake.

His smile faded. "Ah," he said.

Since he seemed not to recognize me, I added with a certain amount of pride, "Buffy's new Watcher."

"I am...aware of that." Ignoring my outstretched hand, he turned away, stuck his own hands in his pockets, and wandered away.

I pursued him, trying to be friendly. "I came here because I was told to, Mr. Giles, and I came to do my job. Nothing more, nothing less. I'm not here to hate you or to be hated, all right?"

He stared out the window and pointedly said nothing, and I sighed. So much for cordiality. There were other tacks I could try. "Sulking does not become a Watcher. It's childish and reprehensible and, quite frankly, exasperating. You do not have to like me, but I *would* appreciate some professional courtesy. Your duty right now is to help me to the best of your resources and ability."

Mr. Giles looked sideways at me. "My duty is to help the Slayer."

"The only way to do that is to help me."

He stayed silent. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. Slowly. In Sanskrit. "All right," I said at last, trying to stay patient. No sense in yelling at him. He was obviously under a fair amount of stress, and knowing this, I could cut him some slack. "Where is Buffy?"

"Not here."

"I *know* that." I glared at him. Did he think I was blind? "Do you know where she is?"

He looked calmly at me. "In class, I'd imagine. This is, after all, a school. Students come here to learn. Buffy is a student."

He was speaking with slow, exaggerated pronunciation, as if I were a small child. I opened my mouth to point out that my patience was not infinite, but I was interrupted by someone coming into the library: a red-haired girl, one of the students presumably, who grinned happily at him. "Hey, Giles!"

"Good morning, Willow." He sounded less than thrilled.

"What's up? You look stressed. Or maybe constipated." We both looked at her, and she blushed. "Right. Stressed, then."

"I'm rather..." Mr. Giles looked pointedly at me. "...busy."

"Oh." The Willow girl cocked her head at me, regarding me with a serious and faintly puzzled expression. "I can go away if you want."

Mr. Giles hesitated, then sighed heavily. "Perhaps it would be better if you did leave, yes."

I was interested to notice that she obeyed him without question. American teens, I thought, didn't as a rule like authority.

"--Willow?"

"Yes?" she said, stopping at the doorway and turning to look at him.

"If you see Buffy, would you ask her to come here? I..." There was another pause, heavy with meaning I couldn't decipher. "I need to talk with her."

"Will do." She looked again at me, obviously burning with curiosity. I smiled blandly at her and said nothing.

When she had left, I crossed my arms and looked sternly at Mr. Giles. "You let *civilians* in here?"

He looked back at me, unintimidated. "This is a school library, or had you forgotten? I can hardly forbid students from coming here."

"You should be more careful. She might get nosy and discover something about the Slayer."

He seemed amused for some reason. "She might, yes."

I started to pace. "Knowledge is dangerous, Mr. Giles. *We* know what's going on because we *must* know, and the Slayer knows because she must, but no others. People are on the whole stupid, and tend towards panic. Anyone who finds out, even accidentally, brings danger to herself *and* to the Slayer, and hampers the Slayer's ability to do her job efficiently."

"And of course the Watcher's Council is focused purely on helping the Slayer," he murmured. I detected irony, but ignored it.

"It is our job." I thought a minute, and then corrected that to: "My job."

Mr. Giles said nothing. I smiled grimly; if he wasn't fighting me any more, perhaps he was finally accepting my role as Watcher, as leader, as being in control of the situation.

* * *

"What," Mr. Giles said tensely, "are these?"

He was staring irritably down at the two large boxes sitting on the library table. I smiled. "Ah, good-- my books arrived."

"Your...books."

"Yes..." I pried open one of the boxes and ran my hands lovingly over the top book. "I had the foresight to have them delivered to the library, so we could integrate these with your collection." I looked up, meeting his astonished glance. "You, uh...you *do* have books, yes?

"No, actually, all the books were allergic to the library, which is why the shelves are bare." His voice was heavy with sarcasm.

"Right." I opened the other box and sighed happily. "These are just the specifics, of course. References, journals, demonologies...items we might need. Naturally, I left the basics at home, as you would be likely to have those."

"Naturally." He sounded sulky.

I looked up at him and adjusted my glasses. "I hope you're not taking this personally," I said, trying to be reasonable. "I'm sure you make a decent librarian."

"Your confidence is overwhelming," he said dryly.

"It's just that the Council has decided you're no longer properly suited to be the Slayer's Watcher."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the table. "And you are."

"Well, yes, in their estimation."

He regarded me unblinkingly, then abruptly stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"To my office," he called back, as unhelpful as ever. I stared after him, frustrated. I didn't particularly need his approval, either as a Watcher or as a person; but since it seemed easiest to use the library as a place of research, it would be so much easier if he were civil.

The office was effectively soundproof, but I could see him talking on the phone for almost thirty minutes. When he came back out, he looked somewhat exhausted. "You'll be glad to know your credentials checked out."

I blinked at him. "Was that under question?" I asked in honest surprise. I was the Watcher they had assigned. I didn't doubt that, so how could he?

"Did you honestly think I would take your word at face value?"

I stood straighter, not sure whether to be confused or incensed. "Mr. Giles--!"

He held up a hand. "No offense meant, of course," he said, and then added seriously: "I've been reinstated as Buffy's Watcher."

"What?" I stared at him, offended and outraged. "I'm *not* naive enough to fall for that."

"Exactly." He tipped his head back, regarding me through half-closed eyes. "So why should I have?"

I relaxed a little when it became clear that he was using that as a demonstration to prove his point, not as an actual attempt to reinstate himself. He did have a point, I admitted grudgingly, though I was still a little annoyed at having my word doubted. Would I have bothered braving the wilds of southern California if I hadn't been assigned? "Are you satisfied, then?"

"I won't claim you're an imposter." He perched on the edge of the table, facing the door, with his back to me.

"Terribly kind of you." Since that seemed to be all I'd get out of him, I went back to unpacking my books. "I'm not really that different from you," I said. That was partly a lie-- I was more devoted, less weak, less emotional-- but I was trying to make conversation, not to be precisely accurate. "I've had the same training, the same tests, the same lessons." I pulled out another book: Greer's Anthology of Demons. "Of course, training procedures have been updated quite a bit since your day. Much greater emphasis on field work."

"Really."

"Oh, yes," I assured him. "Not all books and theory nowadays. I have, in fact, faced two vampires myself. Under controlled circumstances, of course."

He sounded, if possible, more exhausted than he had. "No danger of finding those here."

I paused and looked up at him, confused. "Vampires?"

"Controlled circumstances." He took a deep breath, just as another girl entered the library. "Hello, Buffy."

I couldn't suppress a smile as I came around the table to where she was. So this was Buffy Summers, then. The Slayer. My Slayer. "Well," I said, trying not to seem too eager. "Hello." I hadn't actually met a Slayer before; she was smaller than I expected, young and blonde, looking almost frail. That had to be deceptive, if she had been able to stay alive this long, but somehow I'd presupposed someone rather more...intimidating.

She looked at me, sullen. "New Watcher?"

"New Watcher," Giles confirmed.

I suppose I shouldn't have been too surprised that she was able to identify me so readily. After all, she was expecting a new Watcher, and here I was, a proper Watcher. "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce," I introduced myself, holding out my hand for her to shake. She looked unsmilingly from my face to my hand and back, and I nodded. They didn't seem big on formalities here; I wasn't terribly surprised that no one had ever taught her proper manners. Still, that didn't mean I had to be lax. "It's very nice to meet you," I said, and meant it. Meeting a Slayer was special enough, but more so when she was mine.

"Is he evil?" she asked. It was obvious she was addressing Giles, even though she was still looking at me.

"Evil?" Mr. Giles had all but called me an imposter, and now my Slayer was wondering if I was evil. It seemed absurd, this hostility; perhaps it was some odd side effect of the Hellmouth.

"The last one was evil."

The last one? "Oh, yes." I nodded, understanding at least a bit. "Gwendolyn Post. We all heard. No; Mr. Giles has checked my credentials rather thoroughly, and phoned the council. But I'm glad to see you're on the ball as well." I smiled knowingly and leaned in. "A good Slayer is a cautious Slayer," I recited.

Mr. Giles half-smiled, most likely in approval.

Buffy looked at Giles, unsmiling. "Is he evil?"

"Not in the strictest sense of the--"

"Well," I interrupted, "I'm glad that's cleared up." I didn't generally condone being rude, but she had to learn that she would get her answers from me, now, not Mr. Giles. Briskly I fetched my Watcher's diary from one of the boxes. It was blank, of course, but wouldn't stay that way for long. "And as I'm sure none of us is anxious to waste any time on pleasantries, why don't you tell me everything about last night's patrol?"

She perched on the table next to Mr. Giles. "Vampires."

"Yes?" I said excitedly. Vampires weren't terribly unusual for a Slayer, but it was better than dull monotony.

"Killed 'em." She didn't seem to share my enthusiasm.

I kept the pen poised over the paper. "Anything *else* you can tell me?" I prodded.

The Slayer looked at Mr. Giles, who nodded, and then back at me. "Uh, one of them had swords. I don't think he was with the other two."

Vampires with swords, then. Interesting. I didn't think vampires generally used anything other than their teeth... "Swords?" It was stirring a memory of something I'd read; possibly in the diaries of Diego Benavides, a Spanish monk from an old mission local to Sunnydale. "Swords," I muttered, digging out the diaries and flipping through them. "One long, one short?"

"Mmm. Both pointy." She added, in a lower voice that might not have been directed at me, "With jewels and things."

"Sounds familiar," Mr. Giles said thoughtfully.

Jewels. Perfect. "It should," I said, having found what I was looking for. I loved being right. I handed the diary to Mr. Giles, who looked at it in fascination.

"El Eliminati," he read.

"Fifteenth Century duelist cult," I said, secure in my knowledge, and sketched a brief explanation of the cult, of their decline, of the demon Balthazar. Possibly Mr. Giles, in his prime, would have been able to identify them almost as readily as I had, but he was no longer ideal. Even he could see that now, surely. A Watcher who had to depend on his books for more than just *verification* of facts, was a Watcher made that much slower, that much less efficient.

"You seem to know a lot about them," Mr. Giles said, handing the book back to me.

Of course I did. It was my duty. "I didn't get this job because of my looks," I reminded them.

"I really, *really* believe that."

I stiffened and glared at Buffy's back. "I've researched this town's history. Extensively." More extensively than they had, evidently. It was getting increasingly clear to me that they'd had sore need of a new Watcher.

"So why have we not seen them before this?" Mr. Giles asked.

"They were driven out a hundred years ago." I felt pleased with myself, not only because I knew what needed to be known, but because they *didn't*. It might have been a petty pleasure, but on the other hand, if they knew I had what they needed, they couldn't afford to dismiss me outright. "Happily, Balthazar was killed, I don't know by whom." Benavides hadn't been terribly clear on that. It didn't matter, as long as the demon was dead.

"And they're back," Buffy said, "'cause...?"

"Balthazar had an amulet purported to give him strength. When he was killed, it was taken by a wealthy landowner named--" Buffy rolled her eyes at me, and I faltered. Perhaps the Slayer didn't *need* to know every last detail. "I don't want to bore you with the details," I acquiesced.

"A little bit late," she muttered.

I ignored that. "--named Gleaves." For her sake I skipped most of the history. "It was buried with him, and I believe the few remaining Eliminati are probably looking for it. For sentimental value." In my opinion, a dead demon's amulet wasn't worth all that much; but on the other hand, I wasn't a dead demon's sworn acolyte.

Mr. Giles looked at me. "And you don't think that this amulet poses any threat?"

"Oh no, not at all." I didn't see why it would, since without the demon it had been made for, it was little more than a pretty piece of jewelry. "Nonetheless we may as well keep it from them. Buffy, you will go to the Gleaves family crypt tonight and fetch the amulet."

"I will?"

I looked up at her, frowning. Given her behaviour, I hadn't expected a crisp "Yes, sir!"-- but on the other hand, I *was* her Watcher, and was not part of the purpose of a Watcher to give the Slayer directions? "Are you not used to being given orders?"

"Whenever Giles sends me on a mission, he always says 'please'." She glanced at Giles, and added with excessive perkiness, "And afterwards I get a cookie."

Cookies? Either Mr. Giles had been far more aberrant than I had been led to believe, or she was saying that simply to rile me. Somehow the latter seemed far too probable. I sighed. "I don't feel we're getting off on quite the right foot," I began, and then stopped as yet another girl came into the library. This wasn't the red-haired girl from earlier; she was dark-haired, with a self-assured arrogance in her bearing. "Ah. This is perhaps Faith." Having learnt my lesson, I did not try to offer to shake hands.

She looked at me with an expression of disgust, as if I were little more than a long-dead biology experiment. "New Watcher?" she asked, confirming my guess. Only the other Slayer would have known what a Watcher was.

"New Watcher," Buffy and Mr. Giles chorused together.

"Screw that," Faith said, wheeled, and stalked out.

I looked down, trying not to think about how out of control the situation was getting. I would *not* fail, I told myself; it would just take a bit of time to get things under proper control.

"Now why didn't I just say that?" Buffy mused.

Giles made a non-committal noise. "Buffy, would you..."

"I'll see if I can get her back," she said, resigned, and hopped off the table. "Don't say anything terribly interesting while I'm gone."

I watched her leave, trying not to be too disappointed. "They'll get used to me," I said. They had to. I was their Watcher, after all.

I realized that I'd taken my glasses off and was polishing them with my handkerchief. That was a bad sign. Irritated, I forced myself to put them back on. I would *not* be nervous. Nothing had gone wrong, and nothing would go wrong. Once they accepted my being here, we would settle down to a routine.

* * *

Buffy came back that evening just after seven, stalking into the library with an impressive amount of energy. "Giles," she began, then skidded to a halt when she saw me. "You're still here?"

Her voice was hostile and unforgiving. I smiled blandly at her, refusing to get irritated by her lack of acceptance. I could afford to give her some time to get used to me. Not much time, of course, but it shouldn't take more than overnight. "Do you have the amulet already? Well done. May I see it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Giles!"

He came out of the office; his shirt was rumpled, and I found myself smoothing the front of my suit to compensate. "Hello, Buffy. Do you have the amulet?"

"Nah." She perched on the table, facing him and ignoring me. "And I *really* don't have time tonight. I've got the chem test to study for, and I promised Will I'd be over..."

"Your Slaying takes priority," I reminded her. She glared at me, but I didn't back down. "You *are* the Slayer. Into each generation a Chosen One is born, one girl in all the world with the strength and skill to--"

She didn't let me finish. "Is it a genetic trait that Watchers love to do that speech?"

Giles smiled. I tried not to scowl. "Conversely," I continued stubbornly, in the interests of time skipping 'that speech', "there are many students in the class, and neither your teacher nor the world will suffer if you get a lower grade on a test."

"My GPA will."

"Miss Summers." I tried to look menacing.

"Buffy," Mr. Giles said with a more pleading note to his voice.

"Fine, fine, I'll go. Gloves, was it?"

"Gleaves," I corrected, and arched an eyebrow at Mr. Giles, who paused in the middle of reaching for the book.

Buffy hopped off the table. "Gleaves. Right. One amulet, coming up."

"Be careful," Mr. Giles said in a low voice.

"Thanks for caring." She tossed her head at me and left.

I crossed my arms and looked at Mr. Giles. "Did you instruct her to be disobedient?"

"No, actually, she comes that way." He seemed to be almost smiling.

"But she would obey you, if you were the one giving the orders."

"Quite probably, yes."

"Because you say 'please'?" I asked in disbelief. "I was not asking her to do something outside her job description, or something she was incapable of performing. Why would I need to say please?"

He looked at me. "There *is* such a thing as common courtesy, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. I suggest you try it sometime."

"She is my Slayer. I am her Watcher. She does what I tell her. I do not need to *ask* her, let alone beg."

"And that would be your problem."

I sighed; the discussion was going nowhere, aside from Mr. Giles fabricating reasons to criticize me. Buffy would take some time to get the amulet, which meant we could either glare at each other for half an hour, or actually get something done. I preferred to be productive. Changing the subject abruptly, I asked him, "Do you have the diaries of the past Watchers?"

"Somewhere, yes." He made no move to get them. "Do you want to read them?"

"Did you never read them?"

"When need served, yes, occasionally I did. But most of the time, I was too busy trying to find a way to stay alive. The diaries never had exact solutions for what we needed."

"Well." I raised my eyebrows at him. "I have some time right now; and unlike some people, I am willing to learn from past Watchers. The ones who succeeded, I can imitate, and the ones who did not..." I shrugged.

Mr. Giles looked at me for so long that I thought he would refuse to help me. "Very well," he said at last. "I'll get them for you. It may take some time," and sarcasm crept back into his voice, "because something always took priority over organizing the Watcher's diaries."

"I can wait," I told him. We had at least half an hour until Buffy returned, and far longer before we would have to avert a crisis. After all, there wouldn't be a crisis until after Buffy and I had settled into a working relationship together.

* * *

Mr. Giles started to pace a little after seven-thirty, which was intensely distracting. I took my glasses off and rubbed the bridge of my nose. "If you're that bored," I said, "you *could* always help me."

"Help you?" he said, not ceasing the pacing. "With what?"

"Sorting these." He'd been able to dig out most, if not all, of the diaries he had, and they were piled in disorganized stacks on the table.

"By date, last name, thickness, or page colour?"

I gritted my teeth. He was a librarian; he had to understand the value of organization. "Date."

"Thanks for the offer, but I'll let you do it. I would hate to impinge on your authority." He smiled humorlessly and kept pacing.

I made a mental note to talk to Quentin Travers about this, the next time I called. He would know the best way to deal with Mr. Giles's attitude.

* * *

I finally got them arranged in neat piles, with the most recent ones on top. "These are all the diaries, then," I asked him, "yours included?"

"That's everything," Mr. Giles muttered. "Knock yourself out." I suppose it was some quaint American way of saying yes.

I glanced at the dates written neatly on the spine, and found one in his handwriting from 1997. "Oh yes. Here's your first entry." It was written neatly, but with aggressive strokes. I could almost read his frustration. " 'Slayer is willful and insolent.' " I smiled and looked up at him; it was nice to know that some things hadn't changed. "That would be our girl, wouldn't it?"

"Well, you have to get to know her." Mr. Giles didn't sound at all amused, or even sympathetic to me.

I kept reading." 'Her abuse of the English language is such that I understand only every other sentence.' Oh, this is going to make fascinating reading." I was more than pleased. It seemed that, despite his current superiority, he had started out his tenure as Buffy's Watcher as unappreciated as I had.

He was still pacing. "She should be back by now."

She? Oh, right, Buffy. I glanced at my watch. Seven forty-two. "Not to fret," I assured him. "My mission scenario has her back in one minute." I smiled complacently, took a mint from a supply Mr. Giles had provided at my request, and popped it into my mouth. "Shouldn't be any trouble."

He stared at me as if I'd sprouted a second head. "Mission scenario?"

"Well, yes."

"You made a mission scenario? *Scheduled*?" He sounded astonished.

I blinked. "Of course." It made sense; knowing what would happen was better than improvising wildly. "It will take her a certain amount of time-- fifteen minutes, say-- to walk to the crypt from here, and fifteen minutes to walk back. While there, it should take her three point four minutes to find the amulet and point six minutes to retrieve it." I smiled, satisfied that my logic was irrefutable. "She left at nine minutes after seven, therefore she should be back at seven forty-three."

"And if she runs into trouble?"

"Trouble?" I echoed blankly. "What trouble would there be?"

"Vampires," he said impatiently. "This clan of yours, El Eliminati?"

"Oh, that's all right." I smiled again. "I allowed for that in the three point four minutes."

He shook his head, obviously impressed.

* * *

"Miss Summers *is* the Slayer." It wasn't something that I would have thought necessary to tell Mr. Giles, yet this was at least the third time within half an hour that I'd reminded him of this. "She has the skills to survive, and has shown this many times in the past. Why are you so--"

"Worried?" he snapped. "Perhaps because this Hellmouth has more evils than you could dream of. Perhaps because two Slayer have died here in the past three years. Perhaps because Buffy has been absent for two hours past when your precious mission scenario had scheduled, and past even any reasonable estimates?"

"That's enough." I pulled my glasses off and glared at him. "Need I remind you that she faced the *Master* and survived? That she passed the cruciamentum despite your ill-advised intervention?"

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out. I smiled grimly. "I thought not. Mr. Giles, please do keep your worries to yourself next time? I have full confidence in her abilities. She will retrieve the amulet."

Mr. Giles, looking irritated, went back into his office, and I rubbed my head. I had full confidence in her abilities, I repeated to myself. I had to. She was the Slayer. I did not need to be worried.

I understood more of the reason behind the Council's decision, now. Mr. Giles's concern for Buffy was not simply concern that she was as efficient a Slayer as possible. He would, I suspected, be devastated if she were to die, and would therefore do anything necessary to prevent that-- even if that meant interfering in her duties. It would smother her. I was here to keep her unsmothered.

I just had to deal with Mr. Giles.

My training covered the Slayer, covered research, but did not cover dealing with a Watcher-turned-over-anxious-parent. Quentin Travers was more experienced, and he was the one who had made the final judgement on the situation here; he would know how to deal with Mr. Giles. I'd planned to talk to him only when it was time for me to report back. The more I saw, though, the more I needed his advice now.

I waited until it was safe to call Quentin Travers; with the eight-hour time difference, and assuming he would be up at a reasonable hour, that wait was only until midnight. Only a little over two hours, not even enough time to finish reading Mr. Giles's journals, but I found myself checking my watch far too frequently.

By eleven-thirty, there was still no word from Buffy, but I assumed that she had retrieved the amulet but judged it too late to report back. I'd have to have a talk with her about that. Mr. Giles, when I mentioned this, just shrugged at me and said he was leaving for the night. No doubt he would find some way of checking up on Buffy, but I could let him have his fun. Besides, having him out from under my feet would make it easier to call Travers.

I dialed precisely at midnight, and tried not to notice that my hand were shaking a bit.

"Yes?" he asked, curtly, when I finally got through.

"Yes," I stammered, "I, uh...I need..." The word *help* stuck in my throat, so I avoided it. "Counsel. Mr. Giles is being more than annoying. I have tried to work with him, to accommodate him, but he is always unhelpful, arrogant, rude, combative, interfering in my efforts to work with the Slayer. He persists in actively encouraging the Slayers-- both Slayers!-- to disregard my instructions "

Quentin Travers had been silent through my tirade, and when I stopped, he said calmly, "And what do you expect me to do?"

"Well...you were here, sir. You saw his attitude, his disregard for authority. I thought you'd have some suggestions for dealing with him..."

"This is your job, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce," he said, "and your responsibility." There was no sympathy in his voice.

"But-- I don't have any experience with this."

"If you don't think you're capable, we can reassign--"

"No." I gulped. Reassignment? I would go home in disgrace. This was the chance of a lifetime, and I would not let them take it away from me. "No, I'm sorry sir, I just thought maybe you'd..." I trailed off.

"Perhaps you ought to stop thinking about me, and *start* thinking about how *you* will deal with your situation."

"Sir, but sir--"

"This is final," he said coldly. "You are on your own now. We cannot dictate every moment of your life; that is not our job. It is your job."

"Yes sir." I felt stunned. I thought Mr. Travers and I had been on the same side, when it came to Mr. Giles. I thought he'd understand the problem and be able to help.

As if he knew what I was thinking, Mr. Travers continued. "The Council is not here to so that you can run back and cry to mummy every time you skin your knee. A Watcher should be able to operate on his own, or he is not suited for the task. If you would care to explain to your father why you need our help..."

My father, I knew, would pull me out of the field if there was even a hint that I would disgrace him. "No, sir."

"Then you will be able to deal with Mr. Giles on your own?" His voice was smooth and cold.

"Yes sir."

"We still expect regular reports, of course, on your progress; and you may call if you have a proper emergency. Otherwise, I do not expect to hear from you. Good day."

"Yes, sir," I croaked, but it was to a dead line; he had hung up. I fumbled to put the receiver back in the cradle, and then stared at the phone.

If I couldn't count on the Council's help in dealing with two rebellious Slayers and a Watcher working against me, what was I supposed to do?

* * *

I went home, eventually, to the small but furnished apartment I had rented. Most of my belongings were there, but except for the essentials they had not been unpacked yet. I stared wearily at the boxes, and decided to go to bed. Dealing with the Slayer was exhausting. I could always unpack on the weekend.

The alarm woke me promptly at six the following morning, and though I hadn't had enough sleep, duty took priority. Since Buffy had not reported in last night, and since she was unlikely to track me down at the apartment, I had to be at the school to be available to her.

I arrived at the library before Mr. Giles, and basked in the quiet. When he finally did arrive, looking rather less immaculate than was proper, he just grunted something that could have been a greeting, and went in to his office. Moments later I heard the tea kettle whistle. It would have been polite for him to offer me something to drink, but I was hardly surprised that he didn't.

About fifteen minutes before class was supposed to start, Buffy stalked into the library, radiating even more energy than she had the day before. She was alive-- I shot a rather triumphant glance in the direction of Mr. Giles, even though he couldn't see me-- and unhurt. "Did you get the amulet?" I asked her.

"Good morning to you too." She didn't smile. "I got something that looked amulety."

"May I see it?" I held out my hand. "And, Miss Summers-- I would appreciate it if you would check in, when your missions have been accomplished."

"Did you spend the whole night worrying about me?" she asked mockingly, and tossed the amulet over.

"Not exactly," I answered, a bit preoccupied as I squinted at the amulet. I didn't think Buffy would have bothered to try to create a fake, but someone else might have.

"Good morning, Buffy," Giles said quietly from the doorway to his office. She looked up at him and smiled just a little. I rummaged for a magnifying glass-- there were certain subtle characteristics of the original amulet that a sloppy reproduction would have missed. But they were there, as far as I could tell.

"Well..." I said slowly, "looks authentic enough. Of course, there are tests to be made before actual verification."

"How about verifying that your 'nearly extinct' cult was out in magnum force last night?" I looked up, surprised at her words and not sure I'd heard right, and she stared somberly at me. "Faith and I got into a serious party situation."

"Are you all right?" Giles asked.

She sighed. "I had to lather, rinse, and repeat about 5 million times to get the sewer out of my hair, but...otherwise, I'm of the good. Thank you for asking," she added, pointedly looking at me.

I ignored that. Obviously she was all right; she was here, alive and unhurt. Why would I have needed to ask? And as for the issue of the Eliminati...well, it should be nothing to worry about. "Perhaps there are a few more than we'd anticipated, but I'd expect you'd be ready for anything. Remember the three key words for any slayer: Preparation... preparation... preparation."

It had a suitably intense dramatic sound to it, but Buffy didn't look very impressed. "That's one word three times." Before I could explain to her that repetition was the best way to learn something, the bell rang, and she stood up a bit too eagerly. "I have a chem test," she announced, and then looked a bit puzzled. "So sad that I'm actually *happy* about that." She gathered her books, and left, stopping only to look at Mr. Giles. "Giles, we need to talk."

"Buffy." I stepped forward; her habit of running to him for help had to stop. "I must ask you to remember that *I* am your Watcher. From now on, anything you have to say about Slaying, you will say to me. The only thing you need discuss with Mr. Giles is overdue book fees. Understood?"

She looked impassively at me, then back at Mr. Giles. "We'll talk," she said.

"Of course," Mr. Giles murmured as she left.

I glared at him. Despite what I had told Mr. Travers, Giles had seemed content with just being reluctant to assist me; he had never directly opposed my authority. Until now. "You're not helping."

He paused, about to re-enter his office. I expected denial, or at the very least silence, but he did neither. "I know," he said grimly, mockingly. "I feel just sick about it."

I stared after him as he retreated back into his office. I did *not* understand him, and I was starting to suspect I never would.

* * *

The red-haired girl came to the library about an hour later, almost vibrating with agitation. "She's gone," she blurted when Mr. Giles came out. "She's not s'posed to, and I thought this was a really important test, but she just walked off, and I couldn't stop her. Giles, this isn't like her, but I don't know what to do."

Mr. Giles seemed to have followed that better than I had. "Buffy, you mean?"

The girl nodded. "Right in the middle of the chem test, she just walked out. Faith came for her, and they went away. I think they might have been..." She looked at me, grimaced, and made some gesture with her hands. "Doing her thing, y'know?"

I gave Mr. Giles a 'get the civilian out of here *now*' look. His eyes narrowed. "Thank you, Willow," he said soothingly. "I'll take care of it."

"Is she gonna be okay?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"I'll take care of it," he repeated, and ushered the girl out.

"This is your fault," I told him when we were alone again.

"*My* fault?"

"You encourage her reckless behaviour. You are lax with your discipline. Any *proper* Watcher would train his Slayer to report in on her whereabouts."

He smiled thinly. "I train *my* Slayer to kill vampires."

"The two aren't mutually exclusive. Mr. Giles, if you're going to keep up the pretense of Miss Summers being in school--"

"It isn't a pretense." He sounded offended. "She is here to learn."

"Then why does she go out Slaying during the day, when she should be in class?"

"You're certain she's Slaying?"

I shook my head at him. "What else would it be?"

"Contrary to the Council's idea of a proper Slayer, Buffy does *not* spend her entire day and night patrolling. Unless there is a problem on school grounds, she rarely slays during class."

"She does now."

Mr. Giles took his glasses off, rubbing at one eye with the back of his hand. "If the first time she displays this sort of behaviour is when you show up, how is it my fault?"

"You not only approve of, but incite, rebellion. She disobeys my authority, and instead of supporting me as you should, you sanction her actions. I do not expect us to be friends, Mr. Giles, but I do expect you to cease interfering with my duty."

"If she does not wish to recognize your authority," he said with a bland smile, "that is her choice, and a very valid one at that."

"It is *not* her choice. She is the Slayer; I am her Watcher."

"Around here, respect is earned, not owed."

"They were right," I murmured, almost to myself. "You have been poisoned with American 'values'."

Mr. Giles chose to ignore that. "What will you do with the amulet?"

"It must be kept safe." I looked at it for a moment. I didn't particularly want to let it out of my reach; that was not safe, as far as I was concerned. Luckily, it was small enough that, even wrapped in a handkerchief, it fit neatly in my inner jacket pocket. "There," I said, satisfied.

Mr. Giles said nothing, but he didn't look terribly impressed.

* * *

By late afternoon, neither Buffy nor Faith had shown up, nor had they reported in. I was not worried-- both Slayers were more than capable of dealing with any problems they might have encountered-- but I was a bit irritated. As their Watcher, I should have been informed of any Slaying they were planning to do.

I did not have a way of tracking them down, so I did the next best thing: talk to someone who might. A Slayer having friends was not something I approved of, but the redhead seemed to at least be a casual acquaintance. She was also easy enough to find. I smiled at her and tried to be charming. "Hello. I am an...associate of Mr. Giles."

"Yeah, I remember you from the library." She looked wary and a bit startled.

"I, um, require your assistance. You are friends with Buffy Summers?"

"Oh, yes, she and I--" She stopped abruptly, as if reconsidering her phrasing. "...hang out sometimes."

"I need to reach her. Might you know where she is?"

The girl looked at me for a long moment, then shrugged. "She might be at the Bronze tonight. You could try there."

"The...Bronze?"

She explained it as a dance club of sorts-- "Mainly for high school kids, so you're going to stand out like a sore thumb, but Giles has been in there and survived." -- and gave me directions. I thanked her solemnly, and she smiled, stammered something, and left.

The amulet was a reassuring weight in my pocket when I went to this Bronze. Very little else was reassuring. The music was loud and pulsing, and there were strobe lights on the dance floor. I peered into the mass of bodies, searching for one of the Slayers. Eventually I caught sight of Buffy, sitting on one of the couches along the wall.

I hurried over to her, pleased at my success in finding her. "Ah, there you are."

She said something-- given her attitude, and the expression on her face, it was most likely not flattering to me-- but the music was loud enough that I couldn't hear.

"You're certainly giving me a run for my money," I said, a bit sternly, sitting on the couch next to her. There was a man sitting across from her, someone I didn't recognize, so I spoke in a whisper. "I think we ought to establish that if you're going to go out Slaying, you leave me a number where I can contact you."

Buffy said nothing. It was the man that spoke. "Where's the amulet?" he asked in a normal-volume voice.

I stared at him, startled. He was young, perhaps twenty, dressed in black leather. Not a Watcher, but someone who knew what was going on. "Who are you?"

"A friend. Do you have it?"

My temper having been short all day, thanks to Mr. Giles's attitude, I nearly snapped at him. I did not confide in strangers. "It's...somewhere safe."

Buffy leaned closer and reached into my jacket before I could move. She didn't even have to fumble to find the amulet. I blinked at her. "How did you know?"

"Pooches your jacket." She tossed it to the other man, who was clearly enough of a friend that she trusted him.

Just because she did, though, didn't mean I had to. "Now, hang on a minute--" I started.

"Walking around with this thing," the man said, holding up the amulet, "is like wearing a target."

Buffy looked intently at him. "You're gonna put it somewhere safe..." Her glance turned back to me, full of scorn. "...that's actually *safe*?"

I bristled. It would have been perfectly safe on me...

"Yeah, I'll do it now."

They both stood. "I'll do some recon on Balthazar," Buffy told him.

The situation, never much in control, was hideously out of hand. I stood. "If I may," I interrupted. "Balthazar is *dead*. Am I the only one that remembers that?"

Both of them ignored me. "Be careful," the man said, and they kissed lightly. I stared, too startled to even say anything. He must have been more than a friend. Boyfriend? Given how negligent Mr. Giles had been, I wouldn't be surprised if he'd allowed this. There were things that would have to change, now that I was in control.

"You know me." She was smiling a little.

He didn't return the smile. "I mean it."

Before I could quite figure out what happened, both were gone.

"What's going on?" I demanded to their retreating backs, but got no answer.

* * *

I made my way out of the club, not certain whether I was intending to follow Miss Summers, or whether it would be better to first accost her friend and get the amulet back. It took me some time to fight through the throng of bodies -- the dance floor was packed almost solid, and the outer reaches were almost equally crowded with youth standing around, talking and drinking -- and although I had not made my decision by the time I was out in the cleaner night air, it was moot. Neither of them were anywhere around.

Instead, I made my way back to the library. Given Mr. Giles' secondary vocation, and given the small amount of normal routine that I had been able to observe, it did not require a large leap of logic to conclude that the school library was a focal point for the Slayers' activities. Wherever Miss Summers had gone, she would inevitably return to the library.

Mr. Giles, predictably, was still there, and gave me a faintly scornful look as I entered his office. "I see you had no luck."

"I'm sorry?" I hadn't consulted him on my plans for the evening, so his statement, while true, surely had no foundation. "I don't think you even knew what I was doing."

He gave a half-smile, and ticked off points on his fingers as he spoke. First finger: "Buffy isn't here." Second: "Neither were you." Third: "It is screamingly obvious that you, as Buffy would put it, have no life." I bristled, and his smile flashed wider for a moment before he continued. "Therefore, when you left, it was to chase after Buffy. You didn't have that annoying smugness about you when you returned. Ergo, you were unsuccessful."

"Your logic is inappropriate," I told him. "For your information, I did in fact find Miss Summers. She is currently on patrol." I didn't mention that the point of her patrol was to find Balthazar. It was a ridiculous notion, and Mr. Giles would doubtlessly conclude that it was my idea.

"And I'm sure," he said, "that she is patrolling because you asked her so nicely to."

I closed my eyes and collected myself. No matter how often he baited me, I reminded myself, it was a waste of energy to rise to his taunts. Calmly, I turned, studying the map he had hanging on his wall. "Mr. Giles, I fail to understand this hostility. The Council's actions in removing you from your position were for the benefit of the Slayer. Surely you must see this. You have an emotional problem when it comes to Miss Summers, and that is a handicap that can only get her killed."

"I'm glad to see that they're breeding Watchers incapable of emotion." His voice grew tighter and angrier with each word. "I'm sure it saves them the trouble of dealing with pesky 'emotional problems."

"It isn't a matter of capability. I have as many emotions as you do, I can assure you. I simply do not have the same...difficulties that you seem to. Watchers can only be successful when they are able to separate emotions from duty."

He opened his mouth -- no doubt another emotional outburst in his own defense. "I understand," I continued, forestalling that, "that you are too close to the situation to see it clearly. You see the trees, Mr. Giles, where the Council sees the forest. From your position, I can understand a certain resentment towards the Council. Transferring that resentment onto me, however, is unfair -- to Miss Summers as well as to myself. I am not responsible for your problems, I am not the *cause* of your problems, and this childish insistence on fighting me every step of the way is as deadly to the Slayer as any of your other actions."

"Terribly sorry," he snapped. "I really do appreciate this *habit* of people who know nothing about me, or the way Buffy and I work together, judging me as having emotional problems and do I quite mind leaving everything I've worked for and everything I care about just because I have emotions that they are incapable of and do not approve of." He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "You know nothing, is that clear? Nothing. And you have no right to waltz in here and blithely natter on about my emotional problems."

"I didn't say you had emotional problems," I said, finally turning to face him. "I said you had *an* emotional problem. That's quite different."

I could almost feel his irritation. "My attachment to the Slayer is not a *problem*. In point of fact, it's been a very useful--"

"The way you've handled this assignment is something of an embarrassment to the Council."

"If you want to criticize my methods," he snapped, "fine, but you can keep your snide remarks to yourself." He was all but snarling at me. "And while you're at it, don't criticize my methods!"

Mr. Giles really *had* lost sight of the proper goals. The more time I spent around him, the more I understood the Council's reasoning. They understood, I understood, and it was just a matter of persuading him to understand. "The fact is," I said reasonably, "you're no longer qualified to act as Watcher." He glared at me, as if I were insulting him. "It's not your fault. You've done..." It was an exercise in tact not to say what I truly thought; that would just get him more defensive, and defensive people did not listen well. "...well. It's simply time for somebody else to take the field."

After a moment, he said quietly, "Now's a good time to start."

I was surprised at his cooperation. Pleased, yes, but surprised; I had not expected him to concede this quickly. And then I realized that he wasn't looking at me, but rather past. I turned.

"Mr. Giles," I said, "those are vampires."

"Your powers of observation astound me."

I turned back to him. "You allow vampires in your library?"

"Oh, is *that* what my problem's been. Silly me." He gave me a scornful look, and tossed something at me. "Here." I caught it reflexively, and found myself holding a stake, large and solid. "I don't suppose you thought to have one with you."

I drew myself up and said, "I am not a Slayer."

"Pity. One would come in handy about now."

There was a snarl from behind me, and I turned. Dear God, these vampires had astonishingly bad breath. I swung a punch at him, which he ducked far too easily, and then something solid hit my head, and there was an explosion of pain followed swiftly by blessed darkness.

* * *

I awoke with a headache, sore arms, and complete blindness. Small attempts at movement revealed that my wrists were bound tightly behind me, and my ankles bound similarly. There was a presence next to me, near my legs. I kicked out, and whoever it was grunted and then said, "For God's sake, Wesley, *do* stop that."

"Mr. Giles." I hadn't thought I would have been quite so relieved to have him around, but there you have it. "I can't -- I can't see."

He snorted. "That would probably be because it's dark."

"Oh." I thought about that. "Where are we?"

"In a room," he said, helpfully. He sounded tired, as if he were re-explaining that which I should have known. "I honestly don't know where. Congratulations, you've run into your first uncontrolled circumstance."

He made it sound like it was a good thing. I hissed in exasperation. "Well?"

"...well?"

"Your plan. I assume you have one."

"You're the Watcher here," he said, dryly. "What's *your* plan?"

*My* plan? "Um." The doors to the room were thrown open, blinding me with the light from the hallway outside. I blinked furiously. "Well, that is..."

A few vampires grabbed us and yanked us out roughly. Mr. Giles murmured, "I suggest we go with these nice fellows."

"Splendid. Just splendid. I don't know what sort of lunacy you've gotten me into--"

"Be quiet," the vampire behind me snarled, hitting me on the side of the head.

"Ow!"

We were shoved into a large open room, and one of the first things I saw was a hideous -- *thing* was the only proper word for it. It was huge, grotesque, and a sickening pale pink color that matched the nauseating odor of rotting flesh. Several vampires stood attendance on it, ladling water up from the tub it was sitting in, and it didn't seem to have noticed our presence yet. "The front," it said, "the front, moisten the front!" and then groaned, in pleasure I supposed, as one of the vampires complied, sending the next ladle of water coursing over the front of that monstrous body.

"Oh, God." I managed to tear my eyes away. "Oh, God."

Mr. Giles seemed grimly amused. "Doesn't seem too promising, does it?"

My training hadn't covered this, but I could adapt. In fact, I was handling this remarkably well, all things considered. He, on the other hand... "Stay calm, Mr. Giles. We have to stay calm."

"Well, thank God you're here," he shot back. "I was planning to panic."

Of course. It was just my luck to be stuck in a situation like this with someone *emotional*. I didn't waste my breath pursuing the subject, though; there were more important issues at hand. "What *is* that thing?"

"That," he said, "would be your demon. You know -- the dead one?"

I glared at him. "There's no need to get snippy."

The thing in the tub grunted an order, and we were shoved forward. The vampire's push nearly sent me to my knees. I remained standing, but almost wish I hadn't; close, the stench was almost unbearable. Could this thing really be Balthazar? He was *dead*, I was sure of it, but my eyes weren't deceiving me.

"You know what I want," it said, almost smugly.

The amulet, my mind filled in. This had to be Balthazar, then. No one else would be interested.

Mr. Giles said, flippantly, "If it's for me to scrub those hard-to-reach areas, I'd like to request you kill me now." He was shoved forward by a snarling vampire, and I gave him an astonished stare.

"Are you out of your *mind*? This is hardly the time for games!"

"Why not?" He sounded unconcerned. "They're going to torture us to death, anyway."

I felt sick at that; sicker when Balthazar wheezed with laughter and said, "You're not wrong about that."

I didn't want to be tortured, or killed, and I couldn't believe that Mr. Giles was just going to sit around and let it happen. Reasoning with *him* wasn't going to get me anywhere, so I turned to Balthazar, wheedling him as if he were my father, not some demonic creature. "Now, hold on, we-we can deal with this rationally. We have something you want; you have something we want."

"Hmmm." He considered that a moment, while I crossed my fingers and prayed. "A trade. Intriguing." And then he shook his fat head. "No, wait. Boring. Pull off his kneecaps."

"No!" I yelped, as several vampires headed for me. Oh God, oh God, this was not a good situation. "No, no, no! The Slayer ga-gave it to someone. A tall man, a friend -- a friend of hers. I can tell you everything," I assured him.

Giles, for all that I was saving his kneecaps as well as my own, hissed, "Quiet, you twerp. They'll kill us both."

"But," I said, "I like to have my kneecaps..."

"You *will* tell us everything," Balthazar said. Which meant he was interested, which meant...

"Yes," I said, and then added, "sir," just to be safe.

"What is this friend's name?"

My mouth was open before I realized that I honestly had no idea. A description might work; then again, I knew of no distinguishing features, and surely there was far more than one dark-haired young man in Sunnydale. I thought desperately, but could come up with nothing. Finally I admitted, "I didn't actually catch it."

Giles gave a disgusted sigh. "Look, um, tell you what. Let Captain Courageous here go, and I'll tell you what you need to know. How's that deal?"

At least he was finally coming to his senses, but Balthazar didn't seem willing to negotiate. "There is one deal!" he howled. "You will die quickly, or you will die slowly. The man who has my amulet, what is his name?"

I could say nothing, and Mr. Giles hesitated; but before anything else could happen, a new voice rang out clearly into the silence. "His name is Angel."

Something wrenched away the vampire that was holding me. I caught a glimpse of Miss Summer's friend -- Angel, I supposed, since he had no reason to conceal his name -- and of the Slayer herself. At one point an Eliminati approached us, but Mr. Giles used his head as a weapon, felling the vampire. Miss Summers had a sword at this point, and though I had time to do little other than blink at that, Mr. Giles was spinning around, hands out behind him as far as the bonds would let him. She slammed the sword down, somehow managing to slice through the ropes without hitting him, and then he was tackling me, driving me blessedly out of the action.

I could feel him working at my bonds, attempting to untie me. A vampire roared behind us, and we ducked together. Mr. Giles grabbed the vampire's sword, using first his elbows and then the hilt of the sword as weapons to drive it away, and then spun around to face yet another.

I was not a fighter. I'd had enough training to be able to instruct the Slayer, but in combat such as this, I knew that I was only going to get myself killed. I tried to back away, but found myself captured by a vampire, probably the one Mr. Giles had taken the sword from.

"Mr. Giles!"

He turned, taking in the situation with a quick glance, and then raised the sword, aiming at... me? Dear God, was he mad?

"Duck!" he barked, and I did, dropping as low as I could get. The sword whistled over my head, and I was suddenly freed. The dust was still falling when I looked back, and I stood shakily. "That vampire was going to kill me."

Mr. Giles looked past me. "Yes. It's what they do, generally."

"But..." It was inconceivable. The Slayer was in danger from vampires, yes, but the Slayer could handle them. "He was..."

"Field training, huh?" Mr. Giles smiled wryly, not so much mocking as sympathetic.

"It was nothing like this," I said faintly.

A shower of blue light drew our attention back to the battle. Balthazar was writhing with pain, counterpoint to the sparks that danced around it. A lamp lying in the pool was evidence of the reason behind all this -- Balthazar was being electrocuted. I felt little sympathy for it.

Miss Summers stood watching, impassive. When the power cut out and Balthazar lay still, she went over and knelt beside Angel. He looked exhausted, shaken, but otherwise unhurt.

A sudden ragged breath had everyone's focus back on Balthazar; though surely dying, it was not yet dead. "Slayer," he hissed. "You think you've won." It made a sound that was more wheeze than laugh. "When he rises...you'll wish I'd killed you all."

It went limp again, and after a long silence, Miss Summers said, "I think he's dead."

"Good," Angel said.

"Are you all right?" Mr. Giles asked her softly.

"Think so."

"Uh," I said, and they all looked at me as if they'd forgotten I was there. My voice was shaking, and if I cared more I would have been embarrassed. "Can we, um, leave? Please?"

* * *

The air was blessedly cool outside of the warehouse. I took several deep breaths, more than glad to be outside, away from that monstrosity.

Miss Summers looked unhappy, almost brooding; her head was down, and she was frowning. Mr. Giles and Angel shared a look, and I agreed with their unspoken sentiment. An unhappy Slayer was a careless Slayer, more prone to being caught unawares. "Cheer up," I told her. "You killed him, after all."

Her head jerked up, and she stared at me in something approaching shock. "What? I-I-I...what?"

"The demon," I clarified. "You were victorious. I couldn't ask for a better Slayer." Tactfully, I didn't mention that I *could* ask for a more obedient Slayer. There was time to work on that.

"Maybe." She didn't sound convinced. "Giles, what was Balthazar talking about? 'When he rises.' When *who* rises?"

"Mr. Giles is not your Watcher," I reminded her, automatically.

"Fine." Miss Summers looked at me with an expression I couldn't read. "When *who* rises?"

"I..." Damn it. "I need to consult some of my sources before I give a definitive--"

"You don't know," she translated. "Giles?"

He was almost smiling. "I can't say I know either. For a threat, it was rather vague."

"Yeah." Miss Summers glanced behind her. "I'm guessing we'll find out though."

"With luck, we won't."

"This is the Hellmouth, Giles," she said teasingly, shaking her head. "You expect luck? *Good* luck?"

He looked down and smiled. "I've heard it's one of the signs of the apocalypse."

"No, actually, the signs of the apoca--" They both turned and glared at me in unison. I took a hint. "-- are not relevant."

"Good boy," Miss Summer said.

"Walk you home?" her friend Angel asked in a low voice.

"No, I need to go talk to-- there's something I need to do before I go home. It's okay, I'll go alone."

"You sure?"

"You let her have a boyfriend?" I murmured to Mr. Giles.

"I could hardly stop her." He was watching Angel with a resigned expression.

"You really should have better control over your Slayer."

He put one hand on my arm, stopping me, letting Angel and Miss Summers walk on ahead. "Buffy's done better, lived longer, than almost any Slayer on record. She has faced with ease events and demons that would baffle a lesser Slayer. Do you want to know her secret?"

I stayed silent, knowing that he would continue.

"Emotional problems."

"I'm sorry?"

"She has people who care for her; people she cares about. People she would do anything to keep safe. I could order her to kill this, fight that, save the world, but her emotions are what give her the drive. She has motivation to succeed, beyond the...pride that comes with following orders. And *that* is why she works so well." Mr. Giles looked at me, gaze serious. "You'd do well to remember that."

"It rather goes against everything I know," I admitted.

"Yes. It does." He watched me, waiting for more.

"I suppose I can adapt?" It came out as a question more than a statement, but he smiled at me. "Thank you."

He smiled again, faintly. "Don't mistake this for my wanting you here. I don't. But I want to keep Buffy alive, and I can't do that if you're trying your best to get her killed."

"I'm not," I protested.

"Funny, that's what I told Travers." He shook his head. "Your training is good for controlled circumstances. You'll find rather quickly, if you haven't already, that it doesn't work the same here."

"I'd gathered that." I took a deep breath. "I promise you, Mr. Giles, I am more than able to meet this challenge." I realized abruptly that I was speaking as if his approval mattered to me. It didn't. "Thank you for your advice, but I believe I can handle things from now on."

He opened his mouth, probably another lecture. I said a crisp, "Good night," and left. I had time, after all, to find my footing without his help. We had weathered once crisis, and statistically, there would not be another one for at least a month.

Everything was nicely under control.  



End file.
